


The Grains of Paradise

by itstonedme



Series: Haremverse [1]
Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-05-06
Updated: 2008-05-06
Packaged: 2017-11-14 23:35:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/520679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itstonedme/pseuds/itstonedme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU, an undetermined sultanate during the Middle Ages.  Elijah is 18 and in servitude.  Orlando is 24 and a sultan’s son.  Historically, this story is a hodge-podge and as far from fact as can be imagined, especially with regard to harem life, time frames and homosexual acceptance.  Originally posted in 2008 on LJ <a href="http://itstonedme.livejournal.com/8851.html">here</a> with reader comments.</p>
<p>Disclaimer: A work of fiction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Grains of Paradise

Jasmine incense and the attar of roses wafts through the heavily veiled harem chambers, stirred by breezes through open windows in the outside hallways, beyond which cool stone porticoes and atria lead to a terraced sunlit courtyard. Outside the rooms, yet near enough to please the ear, the twittering of caged songbirds carries sweetly, and the occasional passage of bare feet along the stone surface offers little distraction to those choosing to pass their hours in tender embrace and heated couplings. Candle pots illuminate the bedding rooms, turning bronzed skin even darker, rendering the scented oil smoothed upon it more shimmering, more desirous of touch and taste and sampling. 

These are the harem rooms of the sultan’s sons, and there are many rooms for there are many sons. This is a place of leisure and escape and more often than not, interest lost to the more important workings of the world. The sultan has spent much to give his sons this temple of enjoyment, for sometimes palace intrigues are best left to the workings of the harem, where sated men have little interest in bartering for power when gentle hands and soft curves distract so persuasively. 

Just outside one particular harem chamber, back straight to the wall and head bowed, Elijah sits and waits, a zither inlaid with nacre and ivory resting in his lap. A silken tie binds his eyes, preventing all who pass from being viewed. He will wait until he is called upon by one of the sons, or one of the son’s guests, to play. So it is that Elijah spends his days and nights, in a soft darkened universe where all senses, save sight, speak to him.

The silken scarf is a compromise and a very dear one indeed. Elijah has only served the harem for the fullness now of two moons, having been purchased by one of the sultan’s sons on a recent trading expedition. During that journey, after goods had been exchanged in satisfaction to all, the buyer, a wealthy merchant to whom Elijah was bound, had laid out a dinner in honor of the sultan’s son, and Elijah’s melodious performance had greatly enchanted the prince. The merchant had haggled hard when the offer to buy Elijah was brought forth, for the singer’s talents were much prized. But in due course, a settlement was reached in exchange for an extraordinary amount of rare spices. And so Elijah was bought as a gift to the harem for a pouch each of scarlet saffron and chestnut-colored grains of paradise. 

However, a _whole_ male within the walls of the seraglio, especially one as young and fair as Elijah, was all but forbidden. There was much speculation that castration might render the trade of such rare spices completely null; no one, least of all the sultan’s many sons, wished to risk blemishing such an instrument as Elijah’s voice. And so the binding of his eyes was arrived upon as the solution for whenever Elijah entered the harem, which was often, and eunuchs were to guide him wherever he needed to go. “But remember my words, beautiful boy,” one sultan’s son had warned. “If you ever gaze upon the women within, never doubt that your temporary loss of sight will be replaced with the permanent loss of your testes.”

And so Elijah lives a glimpse away from disfigurement and terror, and while his heart yearns to sing like the caged birds he can only hear, like them, his song is never free and always yearning.

Yet it is this yearning quality that so thrills the sultan’s sons, many of whom now call upon Elijah to aid in bedding the enticing young girls and women who populate the harem. When Elijah slips just inside the entry way to cast his musical magic upon the dancing candlelight and abandoned murmurings, it is the longing and sweetness of his voice that stirs their senses, his rhythmic palm and finger beats upon the edges of the zither that send blood pulsing. It is said that no release is as complete as when Elijah sings.

As for Elijah, it is all that he can do to lose himself in the plaintive melodies so that he may stop the nearby sounds from saddening his heart. For all is not love in the harem chambers. Much is taken with no pleasure given in return; more often it is the ruse of seduction by both man and woman, artifice coloring every grunt and wail. It is carnal and base and very far removed from the desires of his own spirit. He is rendered a witness to things he wishes he never had come to know, and he must stay and await the return of an escort before he can escape, even if it means curling upon the carpet and sleeping until dawn. 

*

This day, the sultan’s son Orlando has called for Elijah to attend his entertainment. Orlando has newly returned from a tour of a distant sultanate, and there is much speculation among the harem as to whom he will first invite to his bed. But there is little jealousy, for Orlando is very careful to invite each in their time. His is adored, not only because he is beautiful, but because he brings the women gifts and makes them laugh and gasp with incredible stories and because he is most ardent with the pleasures that he gives. When he tells them he makes no favorites, they know this to be true, and he shows them, in very tender ways, that each is special to him. 

Shadows of the afternoon sun lengthen in the courtyard, but Elijah cannot see this. All he knows is that the prince has been within the harem chamber since before he was delivered here and that a concubine, whose delightful laughter drifts out into the hallway, is with him.

“How is it that your perfection increases while I am away?” Orlando smiles, the span of his fingers caressing the arching throat of his companion. She squirms delightedly within his arms and slides a small hand across his chest, lazily brushing a nipple. He buries his face in her hair and sucks in the intoxicating scent of rose water.

“I think we are in need of sweet melodies, my treasure,” Orlando sighs, tasting her ear lobe. His fingers trail along the swell of her bosom, fingering the lapis pendent he bestowed upon her earlier. “Music!” he calls out, turning toward the draped doorway. 

Elijah leaps to his feet, fingers reading the stone wall in search of the room’s entrance. He lifts the layers of heavy drapery shuttering the chamber and steps carefully until his bare feet find carpet beneath them. 

“Sit there,” Orlando casually dismisses from behind reams of curtained silks; the musician is merely a shadowy presence in the flickering light, and he is far too bewitched by the loveliness within his arms to look away. “Sing for us,” he smiles, eyes locked upon his companion’s smoldering gaze, “so that the wine may flow more hotly in our blood.” She giggles, the disks braided into her hair tinkling lightly.

Carefully, Elijah sits, crossing his legs and pulling the zither onto his lap. He begins to pluck a winding tune and to tap a steady rhythm, the hum buried deep in his throat building slowly as it finds the music.

He hears murmurs and soft laughter and the rustle of bedding but soon, the quiet playful chatter gives way to a woman’s sighs and quiet pleas. He begins his song, one of love and romance, of two hearts seeking each other after a trial of days spent apart. 

“I have missed you, my prince,” the woman whispers, and Orlando kisses her brow, fingers lifting her bodice and sliding beneath.

The drone of the zither’s bass strings resonates hypnotically.

Orlando’s passion builds more rapidly than he has previously known, and he grasps a bangled wrist. “I would have your hand,” he asks urgently, hips pushing upwards, and his mouth slides across his lover’s cheek to part her lips.

Elijah’s song rises and rises, holding, suspended, the steady underlying beat moving ever more quickly. It is an agony of sweetness and promise, of ache and release, repeatedly cresting and falling, over and over and over again.

Nimble fingers reach into the folds of Orlando’s robe, finding him, grasping him, moving over his flesh. All of his senses are alive, and every inch of his skin from the bottom of his feet to the crown of his head seeks to be touched. _What is this madness?_ Orlando briefly thinks, wondering if something has been slipped into the wine to stir his lust so hotly. 

Elijah sings on, descending to a guttural wail, a breathless plea, then ascending once more, the beat relentless, the buzz of the zither mesmerizing.

Orlando presses his forehead into his companion’s shoulder and listens, her fingers along his length suddenly distracting, both too much and not enough. 

“Be still, Harika,” he utters, cupping her hand gently and pulling it away. He turns into her neck and kisses it tenderly. “Be still,” he repeats, quieting, listening. The music is like a dervish, spinning around him in wisps and clouds, lifting and settling ever higher and higher. 

“My prince is displeased,” his companion worries, fingers threading through his hair. 

Orlando licks her throat and smiles, rocking gently to the rhythm of the song. “Never, my heart, never.” He sighs in rapture, but it is not from her charms. “But perhaps I must call upon you when my passion can be solely yours. My mind does wander from you now.”

She does not move.

“Leave,” he gently instructs.

Elijah has sensed a change, and his song quietens to a sighing melody. The stirring jangle of disks approaches and then passes by him, and he wonders, as the tapestry is lifted and cooler air drifts past, if it is only the woman who has left or if the prince has also slipped from the room. His hands cease to play, flattened fingers damping the strings, and the song dies in his throat. He hangs his head and listens, but only the chirping of birds can be heard.

“Musician, come here,” Orlando orders from behind the veils. 

Elijah carefully places the zither on the carpet beside him, and stands shakily. It is always thus after he has sung, especially when deprived of sight, for the world comes back to him slowly, his senses returning from where the story has taken him. 

He does not know this room and he reaches out before him, fingers tangling with the hanging silks. “Are we alone, my lord? I wear a blind and cannot see to move.” 

“We are alone,” Orlando replies in amused puzzlement. “Release your eyes, and show yourself to me.” 

Hesitantly, Elijah unties the silk, blinking at the sputtering candlelight. Through the gossamer curtains, he can see Orlando reclining amid linens and cushions and rugs, resting upon one elbow, a wine goblet being drawn to his lips. His heart beats within his chest like the wings of the caged birds, for he knows this coupling has been abandoned and he fears he has somehow been the cause.

Eyes cast downwards, he moves the curtains and stands before the prince.

“Come nearer,” Orlando murmurs, patting the sheepskin next to him. “Let me look upon you.”

Elijah folds onto his knees before Orlando, hands resting upon his thighs, candlelight licking his features. Orlando draws back in surprise, for the porcelain wonder of the musician’s skin, the sculpted perfection of his countenance, the sheen on hair falling to his shoulders has momentarily robbed him of his wits. 

“What are you called?” he asks.

“Elijah, my prince.”

Orlando does not reply for a moment. “That is Hebrew,” he observes quietly. “You are indeed favored by your god.”

Elijah is silently terrified. 

“This is a pleasure room, Elijah, and today you have stolen a pleasure I came seeking.”

Elijah’s intake of breath quakes.

“But it was stolen from Harika, Elijah, not from me,” Orlando smiles. “Look upon me.”

Hesitantly, Elijah looks up.

“Oh!” Orlando utters as he is met by the fathomless blue of eyes too foreign to his knowledge. For a moment, the unease of something alien and new washes through him, but then he sees the great fear within them and the great beauty upon them, and his disquiet eases. He sits up and reaches towards Elijah, touching his cheek. “Why do you bind these eyes?” he asks, his head tilting in astonishment. 

Elijah’s lids flutter at Orlando’s touch. “It is the price I must pay for being here within the harem.” 

Orlando’s brows crease as he ponders these words. Suddenly, he puts his goblet aside, and reaches between Elijah’s legs, cupping his testicles firmly. Elijah gasps, his chin rising sharply.

“You remain intact,” Orlando says in surprise. 

Elijah grimaces and moans, hands falling to his sides.

Orlando removes his hand and reclines, a smile curling one side of his lips. “Rest easy, Elijah,” he muses. “This is not an unfortunate discovery.” 

Elijah’s chest is heaving, his eyes wildly casting upon the tufted veils rippling in the light on the ceiling.

“Look upon me again.”

Elijah looks down. His cheeks have flushed, his lips breathlessly parted. The long shadows of his lashes, heightened in the flickering light, dance beneath his eyes. 

Orlando thinks he has never known anyone so beautiful, man or woman. His cock stirs abruptly, and he gasps, reaching to touch himself, but he stops and instead draws the pillow upon which Harika reclined closer to him. He strokes its satin finish. “Come, Elijah, lie with me so that I may know you better.”

Elijah’s hands fall to the sheepskin, and he crawls forward. He lays himself upon the pillow beside the prince.

“Closer,” Orlando murmurs, reaching behind the cushion to gather Elijah towards him. He slides his fingers along the smoothness of Elijah’s pale chest. “This is a pleasure room, Elijah. All serve the sultan’s sons who enter here.”

A whimper escapes Elijah’s lips and he closes his eyes.

“You tremble like a bird,” Orlando exclaims as his hand reaches to cradle Elijah’s head, thumb caressing a flushed cheek. “Do you fear me?” 

“Yes,” Elijah whispers.

Orlando’s brows work in mild confusion yet his smile is curious. “Do you fear I would do you harm?”

Elijah says nothing at first, then, “Yes.”

“I am known, Elijah, for my gentleness in the arts of love.” He brushes Elijah’s cheek, then leans in and parts the trembling lips beneath his with a slow tongue. “You may find that all others you have known before suffer in comparison. Open for me.”

Elijah’s lips part and Orlando’s mouth closes upon it, his tongue caressing its moist depths softly, fingers lacing through the fineness of Elijah’s hair to draw him nearer. It is a tender plunder but one not returned.

Orlando draws back in puzzlement. “Are you not pleased with my attentions?” he asks.

Elijah’s eyes grow moist and wider. “I do not know this world,” he whispers.

“Do you not know how to kiss for pleasure?” Orlando chuckles.

Elijah shakes his head, once, eyes filling at his inadequacy.

Orlando pulls back even more, burying his merriment at the embarrassment it has caused. “Have you never lain with a woman?” he asks, incredulous. 

A tear escapes and runs into Elijah’s hair.

“Nor with a man?” But the trembling beneath his hand tells him the answer.

Orlando pulls him close and kisses the wet temple. “Sweet creature,” he soothes, “your learning may not have yet passed, but feel no shame or fear for the lack of it. It is a wondrous thing.” He looks at Elijah and smiles. “Let us drink to your chastity then.”

He reaches for the ewer and fills only his goblet. “Drink,” he offers, bringing the rim to Elijah’s lips. 

Elijah stares at Orlando as the wine is tilted to his mouth and sips only a little, but the burgundy liquid is too much and spills over the brim onto his cheek and chin.

Orlando pulls the goblet away and quickly dips, licking at Elijah’s skin. “That was my mistake,” he laughs, savoring the sweetness of wine and youth. “There, your purity has now been honored.” He draws a full draught from the goblet himself, then offers it again. “Once more?”

Elijah leans forward, and the goblet is brought to his lips.

“You must understand,” Orlando says, watching as Elijah takes more of the wine, “that spending my early years in a harem meant that this,” and he glances at his groin, “commanded much attention. Even when my manhood was still without hair and not yet fully grown, the young women would part my trousers in their playful ways and show it much attention, petting it with admiration and blessing it so that it might one day provide many children and bring great pleasure.” Elijah’s eyes widen as he looks up, and Orlando can see the fear slowly ebbing. “With so much petting and so many blessings – how could I not wish to please?”

Elijah smiles shyly and Orlando’s nods, grinning in agreement.

“And so my chastity was lost when I was very young. Too young, in truth, to know the full measure of what it could be.” Orlando replaces the goblet beside the ewer and lies down facing Elijah. Their eyes meet and Orlando’s face is solemn. “Do you understand my meaning?” 

“No,” Elijah says.

“I was only _twelve years_ , Elijah. I still dreamed of flying kites and playing at sticks with my friends, and yet I already knew the pleasures of a woman’s flesh. It meant nothing but release.” Orlando runs a finger along Elijah’s jaw. “There was no knowledge of the tenderness that would later come with maturity, of the affection for one’s bedmate.” 

They silently look at one another.

“I do not mean to take your chastity today,” Orlando whispers, “although it is something I very much desire.”

Elijah gasps and his cheeks flush. There is a stirring in his loins, and all of a sudden the possibility of it, of feeling Orlando’s hands move over his flesh, is not so frightening. 

“Do not fear me, nightingale. You will learn in time that beauty is _my_ master. Do not fear me.”

“I do not,” Elijah says, and he feels it to be true.

“I will not touch you, although to see the waves of rapture break upon you would please me greatly. But I would have you lie with me and gaze upon me and let me inhale your sweet nature while I take pleasure of myself.”

“Yes,” Elijah agrees, and the skin flutters below his belly, for in secret, he has known the heat of his own hands.

Orlando moves closer so that their breaths mingle, and he runs a finger beneath Elijah’s eye. “I would paint your eyes in kohl the color of night so that they might shine more brightly,” he breathes.

A softness descends across Elijah’s face, a smile settles upon his lips. This son of the sultan would not render him blind like the others.

“And I would paint your body with my seed,” Orlando moans, eyes fixing on Elijah’s wine-stained lips. His hand trails down his own chest and he folds his robe back over his hip, uncovering the hardness of his cock jutting out from his belly. He takes himself in hand and strokes, his head falling back as he gasps. “Oh, Elijah!” 

Elijah writhes within the firm grasp of Orlando’s arm about his shoulders, for the frankness of the prince’s abandon, and his place within it, stirs him greatly. He has never been asked to touch and feel ardor from lips that call to him, and it causes him to want with every part of his being. Elijah shivers as the beard-roughened expanse of Orlando’s jaw and neck is revealed to him and hesitantly, he leans forward, kissing where they meet before pulling away. 

Orlando whimpers and stiffens, willing that it might happen again. He is on fire.

Elijah leans forward once more, mouthing the line of Orlando’s jaw, and Orlando gasps again. 

“Oh, that one day you might touch me!” he cries out. 

Emboldened, Elijah nudges Orlando’s jaw with his nose, coaxing his head down. “My prince, pray that you look upon me,” he whispers.

Orlando turns, flushed, eyes glittering with passion, and Elijah’s wet and parted lips are offered to him like a baby bird. He falls onto them hungrily, his hand pulling his shaft and hips as if they were tethered together. He grasps Elijah’s head with his free hand and fucks his mouth with his tongue because that is all that he can do, breath gusting through his nostrils and ruffling Elijah’s hair. Then he remembers the liberties he is taking and draws back, breathing hard.

“Promise me that our time will come,” he asks. “Promise me that you will come to me because it is your desire.”

“I do promise,” Elijah whispers fervently. “It is my hope.”

Orlando groans, head slipping to press against Elijah’s cheek. He inhales deeply, the scent of male and salt and cleanness filling his senses.

“Promise me that I may be the one you choose to lay with first. Oh!” He shudders against Elijah, for he feels his peak approaching and it is terribly sharp. “Promise me!” 

“Yes,” Elijah gasps, fingers trembling as they reach towards Orlando’s chest. He lays his palm upon it and feels the thunder beating within. “Yes.”

Orlando rolls his hips away, arching, and presses his face harder into Elijah’s hair, a ragged, broken cry escaping him. Then he unfurls, sinking slowly into its depths. “Now,” he sighs. “It comes…it comes….” 

He spends himself in great tremors within his hand, breathless against Elijah’s neck.

All is silent in the chamber, save for the easing sound of Orlando’s breathing. He nuzzles Elijah. “You have enchanted my flesh,” he says shakily, his hand stirring limply along his belly.

Elijah inches his forehead up along Orlando’s temple, pressing, and is still.

Orlando turns to him once more, his smile slipping away, slowly raising glistening fingers to Elijah’s lips but not touching, only tracing them in the air. He stares at them, then to Elijah’s eyes. The smell of his release is strong and heady, and Elijah breathes him in. 

“It is more than my flesh that is enchanted,” Orlando whispers. “I cannot know all mysteries nor why such a fleeting encounter has allowed that I be captured by you. But whatever price was paid for you, it was unworthy.” 

Elijah’s eyes flutter shut, for although he has no courage to echo such words, he feels them nonetheless and fears he is captured as well. He leans forward slowly and kisses Orlando’s wet fingers.

Orlando gasps at the intoxicating innocence of the gesture. “Oh, sweet boy, you cannot even know how much you move me!” He draws his hand away and grasps his robe, closing it. He leans in once more and kisses Elijah’s lips, lingering before pulling back. “But now you must leave, for unwilling as I am that we part, there are others who call for my presence.”

Elijah feels more tremulous than from any song he has ever sung. He wonders, now that the heat of Orlando’s passion has been spent, at the truth of his dismissal. He slowly unfolds himself and stands, eyes averted, and slips towards the curtain.

“Elijah,” Orlando calls out, and Elijah stops, a hand upon the veil, his head turned to listen. “I will not ask that you play for me within the harem again. It would not….serve me.”

Elijah bows his head and sighs, for this will ever be his life in this place, one of abandoned hope. He waits, but Orlando is silent. He takes a step further past the silk.

“You will attend to me at the palace after today, where you might show your sight to the world and where the world might behold you. I would free you from here. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Elijah says, his hand stroking the veil. He would cry out in joy if it were his place, but it is not and so he can only treasure the weight of his heart as it lifts and flies. Drawing the silk to his eyes one final time, he listens as the songbirds pour out their lives.


End file.
